Chapter 5 - The Interrogation Room
The interview room at the county detention center smelled of cheap disinfectant, stale coffee, and old panic.
Under the harsh fluorescent glare of the overhead panel, Eleanor Vance sat at the stainless-steel table, wearing a standard-issue orange jumpsuit that clashed violently with her dyed blonde hair and manicured fingernails. Her posture was rigid, her jaw clenched so tight the muscles pulsed in her cheeks.
The heavy metal door clicked open, and I walked in, carrying a single manila folder. I didn't wear my uniform; I wore a plain black tactical shirt and dark denim, looking less like a deployed captain and more like an executioner.
Eleanor’s head snapped up. For a split second, a flash of maternal authority crossed her features.
“Lucas!” she cried out, slamming her cuffed hands against the metal table. “Get me out of this filthy place right now! Do you have any idea what kind of animals they put me in here with? My cellmate doesn't even use a napkin!”
I pulled out the chair opposite her, sat down slowly, and placed the manila folder on the table between us. I didn't say a word. I just looked at her.
The silence stretched for ten agonizing seconds. Eleanor’s frantic energy began to sputter out under the suffocating weight of my gaze.
“What... what is that?” she asked, her voice dropping an octave, a nervous tremor creeping into her tone.
“It’s the itemized inventory of your future,” I said quietly.
“Don't use that tone with me!” she snapped, reverting to her old defense mechanism of rage. “I raised you! I wiped your nose when you were sick! I gave up my entire social life to ensure you went to West Point! And you treat me like a common criminal over some silly domestic misunderstanding with that whining girl you married?”
“A misunderstanding?” I opened the folder, sliding a printed high-resolution still image across the table.
It was a screenshot from the nursery camera. It showed Eleanor standing over Sophia, who was curled on the floor, while Eleanor deliberately poured a bottle of cold formula over her head.
Eleanor stared at the photo. The color rushed out of her face, leaving her skin looking like curdled milk.
“That... that’s out of context,” she stammered, her voice cracking. “Sophia was being defiant! She refused to follow the feeding schedule I established!”
I slid a second document across the table.
“This is the forensic analysis of your personal bank accounts,” I continued, my tone entirely flat. “Over the last three years, you systematically embezzled forty-two thousand dollars from the family trust fund—money designated for my grandfather’s medical care—and funneled it into offshore accounts registered under Audrey’s name.”
Eleanor swallowed hard, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “That’s... that’s family money! It belongs to the estate! I had a right to manage it!”
“You had a right to nothing,” I said, leaning forward, resting my forearms on the table and locking my eyes onto hers. “And the best part? Audrey spent the last two hours signing a full cooperation agreement with the state prosecutor. She gave up every password, every offshore account number, and every fake medical document you forged to keep Sophia isolated.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated horror.
“Audrey... she wouldn't...”
“She did,” I said softly. “Because unlike you, Audrey likes freedom more than she likes playing mob boss.”
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I stood up, buttoning my cuffs, and looked down at the woman who had tried to destroy my family.
“The arraignment is tomorrow morning, Eleanor. Mr. Harrison has requested the maximum sentence for felony elder financial exploitation, unlawful imprisonment, and child endangerment. Enjoy your new home. Unlike mine, you won't be needing a key to get out.”
